These Jagged Edges
Chapter 1
Chapter One
EVIE
"Charlie, get your ass in gear. We're going to be late!" I yell as I wrestle Bash off the kitchen counter and shooed Mellon Collie from the cereal bowl Bash gave him for breakfast.
It's barely seven o'clock, and I'm exhausted. While my boys may be adorable, they sleep like little tornados. I woke up with Charlie's foot stuck to my face and Bash's knees digging into my back. Looking at the clock, I realize we need to leave in four minutes, or else they'd be late for school, and I'd be late for work. Again.
"Char—"
"Right here, Mama."
"Finally, you grace us with your presence." I stop to kiss his curly head and straighten his little glasses that always seem crooked.
Giving me a toothy grin, he races out the door. Grabbing my purse, I quickly check the lock three times, give Vic, our neighbor, a quick wave, and head off to tackle the day. I drop the kids off at school, reassuring the twin's teacher, Ms. West, that Bash has no hidden bugs or animal of any kind stowed away in his pockets.
Sebastian, Bash for short, has a knack for bringing random bugs and small animals to school. I was called the first week of school about a mole. Yes, as in that ugly thing that lives in the ground. Apparently, the neighborhood stray cat had dropped one off on the front steps, and Bash decided the class needed a new pet since their beloved hamster, Cornbread, had tragically died after taking a shoe to the face. To be only six years old, he sure keeps me on my toes.
He has one mode and it is full throttle. Bash skipped crawling and went straight to running and has never slowed down. At ten months old, he started crawling out of his crib, and you would find him up on the kitchen counters like it was no big deal. Recently, he has been trying to climb Vic’s rickety old shed behind his house.
Charlie is the opposite of his brother. He’s the poster child for Zen. As a baby, Bash screamed his head off, while Charlie quietly observed. He took in the world around him and soaked up knowledge like a sponge. Charlie always stands close by my side, and despite him not being a social butterfly like his brother, he never shies away from expressing himself.
After Charlie overheard one of the regulars at the diner asking Joe if I was single, Charlie told the man he had a snowballs chance in hell of taking his mama out. I can thank Vic for that one. Vic, our neighbor, may have retired from the Navy, but his mouth hasn't. My boys often pick up on Vic’s colorful, vivacious vocabulary.
Dating couldn’t be further from my mind. When you go through something as traumatic as I did, you’ll understand why.
Just thinking that, I take a minute and silently pray that he never finds me or even worse my boys. I left everything behind, not that I had much or any family. Only taking a small bag of clothes and fifty grand from the safe. I took the opportunity and ran as fast and as far as I could. Taking that money was a guaranteed death sentence, but the second my hand closed around it, all I felt was sweet, sweet freedom.
The scars littered across my body are nothing to the scars inflicted on the inside. Scars clawed so deep; it feels like I've been shredded apart. After the first blow, I should have packed up and left. Instead, I stuck around, letting the psychopath inflict much more damage.
I had no idea I was pregnant when I left. I found out in a shady motel off the interstate and cried all night. I lost the last baby after a push off the balcony and was terrified of what would happen if he found me, let alone the baby I was carrying. But little did I know I was carrying not one, but two babies.
Thunder Ridge was meant to be a mere stopover on my journey, but as soon as I crossed under the 'Welcome to Thunder Ridge' sign, I felt an undeniable pull. This place captivated me, wrapping me in a sense of belonging that I hadn’t anticipated. It was as if the very air thrummed with possibility, and in that moment, I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be.
Thunder Ridge is a quaint little farming town, tucked between lush pine forests and rolling hills dotted with fields. Crops grow tall in the open fields, and the hum of tractors is as common as the rustle of wind through the trees. Small farms line the outskirts, each with a cozy house framed by wide porches and rocking chairs. Livestock roams in the pastures, while the town square buzzes with locals eager to spread the latest town gossip. The scent of fresh soil and magnolia blossoms fill the air, and life here is grounded in the steady rhythm of the land.
As I pull into Joey’s, I make sure to leave behind who I really am, and slide on the mask I usually wear to fool people. You know the one. Easy smiles, sassy attitude. You wear it long enough and people start to believe that’s who you really are.
Hell, so do you.
Joey’s is a small cozy diner, that hums to life every morning. It is the heart of the town. As the first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, the local ranchers, with weathered faces and calloused hands, would already be crowding the booths and counter stools. If you arrive looking for a seat before sunrise, you’ll be out of luck—the coffee counter is always full, and the low murmur of their conversations mixed with the clink of mugs on the counter. The diner itself looks like something pulled from the pages of a vintage magazine—checkered floors, chrome-rimmed stools, and faded photographs on the walls. The air is rich with the smell of strong, black coffee and the sweet, warm scent of apple pie, a comforting aroma that made you feel right at home.
It's my favorite place in the world. My dream is to one day open my own little café that embodied the same essence as Joey’s does.
Josephine, my saving grace, owns Joey's. Joe didn’t just take me in, she gave me a job and place to call home. She became like a mother to me and the boys' Birdy. Don’t call her grandma unless you want to put her in an early grave. You would never know the spitfire was in her late sixties. Joe worked circles around people half her age. Her husband, Frank, died ten years back and they were never gifted with children of her own.
Going through the back door, I find Waylon, the only cook at Joey's, holding out a cup of coffee for me. Taking the cup, I give him a quick "Thank you," pecking his wrinkled cheek. Waylon, not one for affection, tsks, getting back to work, but I notice how his face tinges pink. The man is tall and wiry with hair that reminds me of Doc from the movie Back to the Future, except Waylon keeps his in a ponytail most days, or his version of a man bun.
Plastering on a fake smile, I flip my long braid over my shoulder, pushing through the door. Ready to take the day head-on.
I have an hour left before I pick up the boys. My pockets are much heavier than they were this morning and that always makes me feel good. I busy myself putting the pies on the counter, smiling when I see a streak of pale blonde hair walk to up the counter and half sprawl on top of it as if she just woke up. Juggling two jobs between bartending and the bakery, you’d be laid out too.
"What the hell are you smiling about?" she grumbles.
"Good afternoon, Louisiana," I reply in my over-the-top Disney sing-song voice, which I know drives her crazy. Lou’s full name is Louisiana Rose Wright, and she despises it. Her name was the result of a winning scratch off ticket her parents bought traveling through Louisiana. Apparently, that five dollars left a damn good impression.
As she continues to groan, I see one amber eye peek through her cascading hair. “The least you could do is feed me before dropping my full government."
“All I ever do is feed you. At this point, you’re more like my third child than my best friend,” I grumble. Setting the last pie down, I turn back to wipe the counter when a figure I know all too well walks by the window and pauses. Time seems to freeze as I take him in—tall and broad, dressed casually, yet every detail sends a chill down my spine.
The familiar shape of him stirs up memories I had tried so hard to bury. His dark hair is tousled, and though I can’t see his face, his confident stance as he surveys the street feels hauntingly recognizable. My heart pounds in my ears, and I stand frozen, my body refusing to move. Just as panic begins to take hold, he turns away at the last moment revealing his face, and relief floods every fiber of my being.
My devil hadn’t found me, at least not today.
"Earth to Evie." Lou snaps her finger close to my face causing me to flinch back.
"Shit. I'm sorry, Eves." Lou's quick amber eyes catch my flinch and fill with remorse. I hate that look. It makes me feel small, like I’m broken in a way I can’t hide.
Quickly, I slip my mask back into place, brushing her off. "Girl, it's fine. I drank too much coffee today; it's making me jumpy." I quickly shove that particular demon back into its hiding spot.
Lou gives me a look that screams bullshit, but Joe interrupts us before she can call me on it.
"Here, Louisiana Rose. Waylon added extra powdered sugar and strawberries. Said you look like shit." A strawberry rolls off the plate as Joe plops down the sugary monstrosity. Truth be told, my best friend has never looked like shit; Lou is one hundred percent a natural beauty with legs that go on forever. She reminds me a lot of Grace Kelly right up until she opens her mouth, but I love her all the same.
Lou licks her lips with a sly smile. "I love it when you flirt with me old man!” Lou calls out, giving Waylon a suggestive wink before digging in.
“You look like a walking corpse! Get some damn sleep,” he rebuttals.
Lou plops a strawberry in her mouth. “So, you find corpses sexy?”
Waylon turns, giving her a stern look. “Girl, you need that ass tanned.”
“Oh, you got a spanking kink? I always figured you’d be more into tentacles and latex. You know, sci-fi shit.” I can’t help but throw my head back and laugh. Waylon fixes us both with a look that screams disappointment before turning back to the vegetables he was cutting. Nothing phases Lou.
"You going to share that Kitty?" a deep voice drawls from the door.
Well, almost nothing phases Lou except Henry Wilder.
Lou's face instantly flushes red, she levels me with a look before growling into her French toast. Henry might have overheard Bash ask her if the cat had her tongue during one of their tension- filled exchanges, where he did all the talking while she glared. Now he insists on calling her kitty and driving her crazy.
Henry Wilder is a towering, burly man. His appearance more closely resembles that of a mountain man than a law enforcement officer, but everyone loves him all the same. Henry is helpful and caring, and he helps anyone who needs it—whether it is changing a flat tire or helping stock shelves at the hardware store when Meryl was feeling down after her chemo sessions. He volunteers at the retirement center, playing card games, and going on outings with residents from time to time. He is utterly devoted to his town and community. He is a good man, not that I had much experience in knowing good men, but over time I can see he is a man of integrity.
Leaning on his hip at the bar, he faces Lou, watching her as she eats. His gaze hungrily eating up every inch of her face. Lou licks syrup from her top lip. Henry's eyes instantly darken as they track her every move. The sexual tension between them is suffocating.
"You guys let just about anyone in here, huh Joe," Lou mumbles into her French toast.
Henry leans down and whispers in Lou's ear. Jumping up, she grabs her purse and stares him down with an eye-gouging glare before stepping out of the diner, slamming the door, and leaving her favorite meal behind.
"Hell, you two make it hotter in here than two mice screwing in a wool sock! Here's your order Henry," Joe tells him while fanning herself with his receipt.
"Jesus Aunt Joe!" Henry’s horrified voice echoes across the diner.
"Just speaking the truth boy!” She starts to laugh.
“Well, y’all, it’s been fun, but I’ll see you tomorrow!” I laugh as I head out the door. God damn sure broke the mold after creating Joe. That woman’s a league all in her own.